


Snack Attack

by ghostie_withthemostie



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Bloodplay, Cunnilingus, F/M, Knifeplay, Swearing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostie_withthemostie/pseuds/ghostie_withthemostie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He surprises you in the kitchen while you’re cooking. You were holding a knife. Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snack Attack

The rhythmic _clunk_ of the knife on the chopping board had lulled you into a daze so deep you didn’t even hear him approach. A large, firm body presses up against you from behind and, out of reflex, you swing the knife up over your shoulder, driving the tip into the intruder’s neck.

“Mother _fuck!”_

“Oh shit, Wade! Ohmygod…” You spin around just in time to catch a spray of arterial blood to the face as he yanks the utensil from his neck and throws it to the ground with a clatter. He clasps a palm over the wound and sags against you, bracing himself on the counter with his other arm. “Got a…uhh…Got a big one, huh?” You chuckle nervously, referring the obviously serious vein you’d nicked.

“I’ll…give _you_ ….a big one.” Wade’s voice is weak as he continues bleeding out, the blood gushing sluggishly past his fingers as he applies pressure to staunch the flow. His weight settles against you further, the sharp edge of the counter behind you digging into your lower back unpleasantly as he does. “Ugghh…gonna…die…” he moans theatrically.

“Stop being dramatic, you’ll be fine in like…two minutes. Get off of me, I’m getting soaked with blood.” You shove ineffectually against the solid mass of mercenary in front of you.

“Nnoo….m’not. Wh-what were you cutting with that knife?” Wade groans piteously.

You sigh. “Celery.”

“Celery! Th-that’s the _one thing_ that m…my healing factor can’t recover from. You have killed me. I’m dying. I’m..I’m dead.” He collapses against you with nearly his entire weight, crushing you.

“Uggghh, you’re so full of shit, get off ge-...” you pause mid-complaint as you feel something hard and hot rub against your thigh. “….do you have a _boner_?”

Wade wiggles his hips, “Maayyybe…It’s a death-stiffy. Everyone gets them right before they die. You wouldn’t know. You’ve never been dead.”

“Is that right?”

“I don’t know, have you?”

“No.”

“Then yes, it’s right. Also I was half-hard before you stabbed me, so it was only a matter of time.”

“Well, if it’s stabbing you want, I can just grab the knife and carve you up some more. You’ve got a nice, big, juicy artery in your groin that I could give some attention to, or if-,” the merc pulls back, mashing a sticky digit against your lips and silencing you.

“You keep on talking like that and I’m going to blow my load in my red pajamas and embarrass myself.” He removes the hand covering the almost fully-healed gash on his neck to waggle a finger in your face scoldingly.

Your lips twitch against the finger still held to them. It’s sticky with blood as well, but cold with it. And it smells weird. “Whose blood is this?” You ask, wrinkling your nose.

“Don’t know. Some guy’s. Girl’s. Someone’s,” he waves a hand vaguely.

“Urk, gross, unh…” You twist your head away sharply from the offending digit.

“Shh, shh…sorry sorry,” Wade pulls the hand away to grasp the back of your head and turn your face forward again. He replaces the finger with one from the hand soaked in his own blood, smearing it back and forth across your lips. “I know you prefer my flavor.”

You glare at him, giving nothing away.

His head tilts inquiringly as the rough, sticky-warm digit pushes past your lips and drags along your tongue. The taste is bitter, sharp, and familiar. “Can you really _taste_ the difference between my blood and…not my blood?” The finger scrapes along your back molars briefly before being shoved further back in your throat, making your eyes water. You nod slowly.

“That’s….fucking kinky as shit.” Wade seems impressed as he begins rhythmically finger-fucking your mouth. His index finger is long, the fabric of his glove is coarse, and you choke more than once. Your eyes lower to emphasize what he’s doing before rising again to meet the sightless gaze of his mask, your eyebrows lifted. He laughs, “Very good point…” His erection throbs against your thigh, hot and insistent. You moan, lifting your leg slightly to grind against it. Wade makes a desperate, guttural sound in the back of his throat before continuing, “Do you think I could recognize _your_ flavor? You know, like in a blind taste test? Coke or pepsi? Yours or not?”

You reach down to his thigh holster and unsnap the buckle you know holds one of his lethal hunting knives. Wade keeps completely still as you lift the weapon to the collarbone left bare by your tank top. With a firm pressure, you drag the blade in a straight line from shoulder to clavicle, the sting of the initial slice followed soon after by a burning, wet heat as the blood wells and spills over. You drop the knife to the ground, chest heaving. Wade finally removes the finger from your mouth, using the hand to grip your chin and turn your head to the side as he shoves up the bottom of his mask, leaning over the wound. You moan as his tongue drags up one warm rivulet before his lips settle over the cut, tongue swiping back and forth, making you gasp and sag further against the countertop. He pulls back slightly, licking his lips in a thoughtful manner.

“….Coke. Oh, definitely Coke.” He turns your face forward again and fixes you with a wild, red-smeared grin. “What do I get for participating?”

You hook a thumb behind his bottom teeth, yanking his head down as you hop up backward to sit on the counter. “How about a taste of something different?”

Wade’s grin grows even wider as he drops onto his knees in front of you. He grips your knees, lifting them to settle them over his shoulders and smearing dark, slick red up your thighs as he reaches for the waistband of your shorts. “Perrrrrrrfect. I’m actually pretty hungry for-“

“Don’t say it.”

“-a taste of that sweet pussy.” You exhale in relief. Tilting his head up at you, he asks, “What did you think I was going to say?”

“Something about tacos.”

He slowly raises a palm to cover his face. “That…would…have been _awesome_! Holy shit I can’t even believe I missed the opportunity! God _damn_ it! Can we try that again?” He looks up at you hopefully.

“Don’t you fucking dare. I swear to god, I will cut you where it’ll take a _lot_ longer to heal.” You knock the side of his head with your knee in warning.

“Not even _one_? Let me think…shit, now I have performance anxiety. Uh…fire sauce…sour cream…quesarito….mmm…”

You twist a hand in the loose fabric of his mask and slam his face forward so it’s pressed against your heated mound through the cloth of your shorts. Wade groans and nuzzles forward, his nose digging against your clit, making you gasp. “Your mouth is moving in _all_ the wrong ways right now,” you breathe.

“Noted,” his voice is muffled as he returns his hands to the elastic of your shorts and begins to tug. “Lift up!”

You brace your hands on the countertop behind you, lifting your hips to allow him to slide the garment, and your panties, down over your bottom. He bends one of your legs forward to unhook the article from one foot, leaving it to hang from your other leg as he presses forward, his warm breath ghosting over your heated flesh. His tongue laves across your folds, gathering the moisture before dragging the tip up to swirl around your throbbing clit. Your breath leaves you in a huff, head falling back in ecstasy as he teases and works your sensitive nub with lips and teeth. His mouth is relentless, driving you closer and closer to the precipice with hard, fast flicks, before easing you back down again with slow, gentle licks. You moan and tremble around him, gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles as he continues this exquisite torture, still finding time to murmur filthy endearments against you, praising your endowments and your taste. The orgasm builds again, that exquisite spiraling heat and, once again, he pulls you back from the edge, gently but firmly.

“Uhhh….God!” You moan, shaking and sweating with your denied release.

The merc leans back, smirking up at you with arousal-smeared lips. “Nope, still just Wade.”

You pant, “Are…are you gonna make me cum, or what?”

“Ohhh….was _that_ the endgame here? I just thought I was getting to enjoy a tasty snack. My bad.” Biting down on the middle finger of one gloved hand, Wade tugs the article off and lets it fall to the ground. He dips one long finger into his mouth briefly to wet it before sliding the digit into your entrance, pressing up with a firm pressure while latching his mouth against you once more. Teasing forgotten, Wade wastes no time bringing you right back to the edge again. His skilled tongue flicks and laps directly on your clit while his finger massages the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. Your eyes roll back, breath picking up as the first electric tremors begin to flow through your limbs, centering low in your abdomen, driven on further as Wade’s lips, tongue, and teeth send you crashing over into blinding-white release.

“Mmmm,” he hums against you, sliding his finger from your twitching channel and squeezing your thigh as you ride it out. “Maybe I’ll change my name to Deadpool: The Merc with a Tongue™”

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you moan, trembling with the aftershocks as Wade climbs to his feet, a smug smile tugging the corners of his scabbed lips.

“That’s part _two_ of the plan, yeah!” The mercenary wipes his mouth and chin, bringing that arousal and saliva-coated hand down to spread it over his length after freeing it from the confines of his uniform. The head of his cock rubs back and forth along your still-tingling slit before his hips slam forward, his cock burying into you to the hilt.

Wade moans, you scream breathlessly. Normally, a person who talks as much shit as he did was compensating for inadequacies elsewhere. Not the case with Wade Wilson. Length _and_ girth, he had it in abundance, and no matter how prepared you thought you were for it, it always took you by surprise. You felt split wide open, the pleasure uncomfortably close to pain as Wade held himself steady, allowing you to adjust.

“Tiiiiiight,” he sing-songed, his head falling back on his neck as he vibrated with the discipline it was requiring to keep still.

You clench your inner muscles around him, making him gasp, his head dropping forward sharply to stare at you. “Now?” He panted, voice high.

Grabbing the back of his head to mash his mouth against yours for a quick, sloppy kiss, you breathe, “ _Now_.”

There was no build up; Wade falling immediately into a hard, pounding rhythm, his cock bumping harshly against your cervix with every thrust. Lifting a hand to your mouth, you bite into your palm to stifle the scream that grows as he increases the velocity of his movements, rattling and toppling over the assorted kitchen paraphernalia strewn across the countertop. He knocks your hand away harshly, his voice, for once, ragged and serious.

“Let me hear it.”

 You let loose: screaming and cursing full-volume. Your neighbors are trash and hate you already, so what’s the harm? You start off fairly eloquent, filthy and profane sentences flowing from your lips, egging him on, telling him to give it to you harder. Wade is uncharacteristically silent, only responding with breathy pants and whines as he drives his cock ever more forcefully into your tight heat at your insistence. All too quickly, though, you start to lose almost all ability to form words, your language degenerating into screeching pleads until finally becoming just a huffing repetition of his name. A hand slides up from its place on your hip, dragging over the still-seeping wound on your collarbone to smear the warm wetness down into the cup of your bra; rough, blood-drenched fingertip rasping across your nipple. It’s enough to send you over the edge again, a wordless scream echoing through the tiny space as you collapse against his shoulder, biting down through the cloth of his armor.

Wade groans, hips failing in their steady rhythm as you clench and squeeze around him with the force of your climax. Removing his hand from your breast to replace it at its earlier location on your hip, he starts tugging you forward to meet his thrusts, whispering “yes, yes, yes” as he pounds his way to his own completion. He finally slows, groaning, cock twitching and emptying inside you, only the ragged sounds of your heaving breaths filling the quiet apartment.

Quiet never lasts long with Wade Wilson, though. “So…,” he breathes against your neck, dragging his tongue through the sweat beading on your from your exertions. “What’s for dinner?”

You groan, letting your head flop to the side to eye the disarray: the partially chopped celery (some pieces digging into your ass at the current moment), the half-cut onion, the blood spray on the counter, the knives on the floor….

“I’m _so_ not cooking now.” You lean your head back down on Wade’s shoulder, sagging into him.

You hear a rattle as he pulls open a drawer, rifling through it until he found what he was looking for: your collection of takeout menus. He fanned them out in front of your face. “Pick one.”

You lift one limp hand and poke at a random menu. Wade turns it around to look at it. “Mexican! Niiiice….30 minutes or less, hmmm…What are we going to do while we wait….? Wait, I know!” He pulls his softening cock from you and lifts you off the counter, carrying you to the living room. He stands you on wobbling legs in front of him as he settles on the couch, reaching for your cellphone from its spot on the end table. He dials the number from the front of the menu and then leans forward, putting a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to your knees in front of him. His cock begins to stir and grow in front of your eyes, and you lick your lips, watching it.

“Oh, hi! I’d like to place an order for delivery….,” Wade speaks into the phone before tilting his head and covering the bottom of it to address you, “How’s about we give you an appetizer first?”

One corner of your mouth lifts before you lean forward, preparing to tuck in.

 

 


End file.
